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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

He doesn’t know either.

:04

I wake up on the couch with the cell phone in my hand. The last thing I remember is pulling the phone from the pocket of my sweatpants and seeing that it is 4:00. I'd attempted to find a decent sleeping position but had failed. Miserably. I'd slept with my feet up on the sofa and everything else corkscrewing onto the floor.

I can feel the pattern of the carpet on my cheek and know I look like someone has branded my face with a cheese grater. I'm not sure where Lassie slept, but as I roll over onto my back, he appears on my chest and begins licking my forehead.

“Hey, cut that out,” I say, although I kind of enjoy it.

Pushing Lassie off, I stagger to my feet and realize just how angry my spine is (which I'm pretty sure is now shaped like a double helix).

After a five-minute shower – a minute longer than I ever allow – I can stand up relatively straight. Opening the fridge, I decide I can't stomach another sandwich and grab a yogurt and a piece of banana bread. Lassie splits both with me.

I pick up my phone to text my dad and see I have three missed calls. All are from the same number. Detective Ray.

Based on my performance from the night before, I'm guessing while I might not be a suspect in the woman's murder, I am at least a person of interest.

I look at the pink Samsung on the counter. How could I have been so stupid? How had I forgotten to put the phone back under the car? But to my credit, had I stayed in the garage a single moment longer, I would have left some very acidic chunks of Henry Bins behind.

I'm not sure what course of action I'm willing to take with the detective. I can’t give her the phone without her knowing that I had been inside the house. And without the phone, they may never be able to connect the woman to Connor Sullivan.

Conundrum. Check.

I decide my best bet is to write an anonymous letter and mail it, along with the cell phone, to the Alexandria Police Department.

But first, I need to go for a run.

The time is 3:22 a.m.

Lassie is pawing at the front door as I pull the beanie down over my ears.

“What do you want, buddy? You want to go outside?”

Meow.

“Promise to come back.”

Meow.

I open the door and he darts out.

The corpse of the woman continuously creeps into my thoughts as I run, but each time I am able to ward it off with a tight squeeze of my eyes and a gaze up at the starry sky. This is my time. Not hers.